


I'd Trade My Soul For A Dare

by CosmoKid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Inspired By Tumblr, Just a Meme Tbh, M/M, Meet-Cute, Museums, One Shot, Pre-Slash, Security Guard Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 21:53:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16463030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmoKid/pseuds/CosmoKid
Summary: Derek stares, squinting at the boy in front of him. The ID in his hand is forgotten as Derek rereads his t-shirt over and over again:I eat oil paintings while the security guards aren’t looking.





	I'd Trade My Soul For A Dare

**Author's Note:**

> turns out moving to and starting university takes a lot of time that id rather spend writing, but hey heres another meme one shot
> 
>  
> 
> title taken from call me maybe but changed in a way that amused me way too much

Derek stares, squinting at the boy in front of him. The ID in his hand is forgotten as Derek rereads his t-shirt over and over again:

_I eat oil paintings while the security guards aren’t looking._

He has no idea what to do; there’s no mention of this in the security handbook he was given when he was hired. It’s clearly a joke t-shirt and he can’t exactly deny admission to this kid because of a joke t-shirt, but he also doesn’t know if he can take the risk. It’s unlikely, but if the kid actually does eat oil paintings, it’s Derek’s head that’ll be on the chopping block. He needs this job and he also can’t be the guy who let the kid in that ate some masterpiece. He has no fucking clue what he’s supposed to do. 

This is not what he was expecting to face when he got dressed this morning. He’s on the front desk shift today, nothing is supposed to happen where he is. He specifically asked to swap shifts with Isaac so he could have a quiet morning.

Blinking, he looks back down at the guy’s ID. Everything seems fine with it even if Derek has zero clue how to pronounce his name. The chance of the kid actually eating an oil painting is probably too small to actually worry about this, but at the same time, he’s wearing a shirt that _clearly_ says he eats oil paintings.

Derek sighs. This is not what he signed up for. He looks between the ID and the guy, realising that the guy is actually pretty cute as well which is really not what he should be thinking about right now. He just has very nice eyes and the t-shirt is well fitted even if it is the current bane of Derek’s existence. His sisters have been relegated to below a damn t-shirt on a guy who has no right looking that good in it.

He looks between the kid and the ID one more time before narrowing his eyes and asking, “Sir, can I talk to you over here please?”

The kid nods with wide eyes and Derek immediately regrets his choice. He should have just left it like Isaac would have done. Swapping shifts with him was a bad idea. He sighs, hands the kid his ID and walks a few meters away to a quieter area with the kid’s footsteps echoing behind him. 

“This is just a precaution,” he starts and the kid takes a deep breath, looking a little terrified. _God, he needs coffee._ He takes a deep breath before speaking again, “But I’m going to need to take down your contact details in case of any incidents.”

“Why do you need my contact details? Did I do something? Why me specifically?” the kid asks immediately, crossing his arms. Derek stares at him.

“Your t-shirt,” he states, trying to keep a blank expression on his face. The urge to roll his eyes is strong with this one.

“My t-shirt? What’s wrong with my t-shirt?” the kid asks slowly and looks down at said t-shirt. “Motherfucker!”

<<<<>>>>

It was a dare, okay? 

This is all Jackson’s fault. He’s the one who came up with the dare and he’s the one who challenged Stiles to do it. He can’t not take a dare and he refuses to ever lose to Jackson again.

But this is ridiculous. He wasn’t expecting to actually get stopped by the ridiculously attractive security guard. He thought it'd be pretty obvious that he’s not actually planning to eat oil paintings when the guy’s not looking. He can’t imagine oil paintings would taste nice and looking at the guy who's stopped him, he’d rather the guy look at him than away.

The guy is very pretty and although Stiles knows he’s nowhere near as attractive as the dude, he knows his eyeliner looks pretty damn good today and he’s wearing skinny jeans for once that make him look pretty good if he says so himself. He should let Lydia coordinate his outfits more, but with better t-shirts.

Ones that don’t get him stopped by security guards. 

He looks up at said security guard, “I’m not going to eat any oil paintings, I promise. The t-shirt is just a joke.”

“I guessed that. Most people don’t eat oil paintings,” the security guard tells him, communicating his frustration very well with just his eyebrows. “But if you were to eat one, I’d rather have some semblance of a chance of keeping my job.”

“I,” he starts, but he trails off. He has no answer to that. It’s a fair point. “Does this happen a lot?”

“People eating oil paintings or people wearing t-shirts with vaguely threatening phrases that mean the security guard has to pull them over to take contact details in case they eat oil paintings?” the security guard asks and Stiles bites his lip. That’s also fair. “Neither happen a lot, to answer your question.”

“I’m wearing the t-shirt on a dare if that makes it any better,” he says and the security guard just raises a single eyebrow. “Okay, that doesn’t make it any better. What if I told you that I’m wearing it because some asshole dared me to so he could try to humiliate me because he thinks I’m trying to steal his girlfriend when I’m actually really really really gay, but I didn’t want to back down because I refuse to let Jackson goddamn Whittemore win?”

“You realise the Whittemores own a wing in this museum?” the security guard asks him after a few seconds of silence and Stiles just stares, his jaw falling open.

“Motherfucker!” he exclaims before immediately realising that he shouldn’t swear that loud in a pretentious art museum. He bites his lip and sighs “Do they actually? Did that asshole actually dare me to wear a stupid shirt to his stupid art museum on a stupid dare just so he could humiliate me even when his stupid ass isn’t there to see?”

The guy keeps a blank stare on his face for a few moments before he snorts. “Yes, that’s what it means.”

He sighs. Why does this always happen to him? 

“I still need your contact details,” the security guard reminds him, but there’s a smile on his face now. One that he’s clearly trying to get rid of but can’t. At least he amused a security guard with his complete and utter failure.

He rattles off his phone number and email, fidgeting with his hands as the security guard writes both down. “You can put it under the name Stiles.”

“Stiles?” the security guard questions, raising both eyebrows this entire time. His hand is hovering over the notepad, clearly debating whether he actually write _Stiles_ down.

“You’ve seen my ID dude, you want to try to remmeber that monstrosity and spell it?” he asks, raising his own eyebrows as if he’s attempting to become the alpha of eyebrow dancing.

“Point taken,” the security guard says and a small smile grows on his face again. He scribbles in the notepad and then puts both in the pockets of his pants, drawing Stiles' eyes down there. Those pants fit him _very well._ “You can go into the museum now.”

“Thanks,” Stiles replies, but it feels distant. This conversation is going to be the most fun thing today has to offer. He takes a few steps back, biting his lip as he considers his options. This might be the worst thing he’s doing on impulse other than wearing this t-shirt. “Hey, I never caught your name!”

The guard looks at him with raised eyebrows again. “I didn’t throw it.”

“Then throw it,” he tells the security guard, biting his lip as he takes a few more steps back. There are several seconds while the guy regards him and Stiles starts to worry that he read the signs wrong. Oh god. This guy is totally not gay. He just hit on a straight security guard. Oh fuck. Blushing bright red, he spins round to keep walking, keeping his gaze down on the ground.

“Derek,” the guard says abruptly before he can even take another step.

Hesitantly, he turns back around and smiles when he sees the guard grinning. He can’t stop smiling as he looks at the guy, _Derek_ , and winks. “I promise I won’t eat any oil paintings, but you can give me call anyway.”

**Author's Note:**

> is this less or more ridiculous than my crocodile one shot
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)
> 
> come eat oil paintings with me on [tumblr](https://cosmo-k-i-d.tumblr.com/)  
> 


End file.
